


#32

by impalafterhours



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Fluff, Frottage, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Phone Sex, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalafterhours/pseuds/impalafterhours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years, Castiel Novak never once felt bad about himself for what he does -- not for one second. And then he met him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, Operator?

The question was, how could a 17-year-old teenager with no family afford living in an apartment at the heart of Manhattan, have nice things while attending classes at NYU? Easy.

I work, of course. I’m a phone sex operator. Most people wouldn’t like to hear such things but it is the truth and look at where it’s gotten me.

I sighed as my phone rang, it was getting pretty late and I was reading reference books that might come in handy tomorrow. I looked at the caller ID, it was an unknown number. Maybe a new client? I let it rang five more times wondering if it'll be a man or a woman. I hoped on the former.

“Hello?”  
“Hi. Are you Cassie by any chance?” he sounded smug.  
“Why, yes, I am.” I answered.  
“Excellent.” His voice was wearing a smirk, “You’re in for it good, doll face.”

I remained quiet for a while, looping the phone’s cord around my index finger trying to figure out what kind of person he is. I cleared my throat and heard the person at the end of the line give a low chuckle. He knows he's the boss. Not for long though. I smiled to the phone and relaxed on my bed.

“Is that so?” I made sure he heard the dominatrix in my voice.  
“That I can assure you.” He proclaimed. 

“Please,” I paused, “Enlighten me.” I heard a quick intake of breathe and I was sure, that I’d thrown him off somehow.  
“My pleasure,” he said in a whisper. I rolled my eyes at his still cockiness. “And soon will be yours.”

Ooh. He’s smooth. I imagine him being a classy player. That one might even mistake for a gentleman, but nonetheless a player. Being as he is good at playing words and mind games.

“Well?” I asked. This might be a good change, somebody else taking in command. Let’s see how it feels like to be at the other end of the line.  
“I just got out of the shower.” He stated.  
“You’re not just saying that are you?” A trick in the book.  
“No-pe.” He popped the last two letters, making it sound flirty.

I imagine a guy who had to be good-looking via his demeanor who is just getting out of the shower. A towel wrapped around his waist, or a bathrobe tied loosely around him. Hair dripping with beads of water. Hey, I’m just doing my part.

“Where are you?” I queried.  
“On my bed.” He replied, sounding uninterested with my questions. That was another trick in the book. Even in phone lines, you’ve to play hard for the conversation to prolong. Well, I in the other hand, promise him he’d drop the whole act when I say so, just a little longer.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, whispering, pretending that if I go any louder, I’d get caught. Which adds more spice to the conversation. The thought of being caught.

I actually already know what his answer would be considering I’d been in this for a while now. I’d known before it even left my lips. But I still had to ask him anyway, it was protocol. And when a person answers that kind of question, they always have the same answer.  
“Nothing.”

I was getting worked up for some reason. I paused for a while to calm myself and stay focused. It’s only because this is the first time I’d had a caller who’d rather foreplay as if I was the one who called him. And frankly though all of the things he says are all in the book, it was still a turn on. There’s a reason why they’re there, I suppose.

“Cat got your tongue, Cas?” he said in a casual tone. “What’s on your mind?”  
“I was just thinking about the next thing I’ll be asking you.” I answered him, ignoring the nickname.  
“Tsk. Tsk.” He muttered the words, “Be honest.”  
I let out an exasperated sigh, “I was imagining a guy, naked and lying on his bed,”

“Touching himself.” He interjected.

I was thrown off at what he said. That was good. It actually made me feel hot for a bit and more uneasy. My portrayal of him, on his bed, playing with himself, keeps on popping in my mind. I groaned for a bit and heard him laugh again, but huskier and… sexier. I shook my head in the hopes of getting rid of my thoughts and daydreams. But it was kind of entertaining and fun. It was all in work now. My mind fueled with an image of my mystery caller, all hot, on his bed and touching himself. My inhibitions were out the window when he said, “The time’s running, Cas. Are you alright? You’re breathing hard, you know.”

I chastised myself for not noticing that. “I just had to move the conversation to my room real quick.” I lied, lying was something that came with the job.  
“Is that how you like it?” he said with malice. 

I leaned back against my pillows and settled for a good position, “No, I like it slow.” I countered him.

He made a low moan sound at my words, his voice was sending shivers down my spine. “Then tell me,” He paused for dramatic effect, “Every dirty little detail.”

“You tell me,” I challenged him, “How are you touching yourself?” Maybe not for a dramatic effect but a seductive one.

“On my bed, legs spread just enough, a phone on my left, my hard cock on the right, sliding up and down, trying to find the right grip…” his voice was low, seductive and teasing.

I bit on my lip imagining him on his bed, playing, touching and teasing himself. Trying to be someone he may or might not be.

“Are you…” he sounded breathless, “Feeling it yet?” he sounded hopeful and tired and restless.

I smirked, “Not one bit. You sound like you’re all worked up…?” I remembered, that I haven’t asked his name yet. He caught on what I was pointing to and answered.

“Wayne. And I’m not worked up.” He was trying to sound all big and strong.

“Is that so?” I was teasing him, “Isn’t the thing on your hand hard and wet? Haven’t your hands gotten a good grip by now? Just keep stroking until you can’t take it anymore. Until you’re at the edge of climax. Are you willing to go there for me, Wayne?”

I heard a whispered curse from Wayne and laughed with a low tone at him. I already figured out that he liked dirty talk. He was turned on by my words. Years here and I know more than I should. “A whispered curse means yes. Hold your cock in your hand, don’t move it. Now that your hand's circling your cock. I want you to move your hips up and down. Slowly tightening your hand around it like you're fucking a man.”

There was only silence and the occasional hitched breaths and whimpers on the other end. “Imagine I’m riding you, Wayne.” I told him, “Tell me what it’s like.”

He didn’t say anything and I wondered if he had gone astray. But then his ragged voice came speaking, breathless and rough. I fought the urge to do anything with my hands aside from holding the phone and its cord. That’s the line. That's my line. Touching myself is off limits. “You riding me, fast and rough and hard, your boy pussy tightening around my length. Making you moan, until you lose your voice and making you beg for more.”

“And when I yelled,” I feigned sounds which were half real, “More, harder, harder, there, ah, that feels good. Right there, don’t stop.” I told him. He’s losing the foreplay he had started. “But then you go slow again, because that’s how I like it. I like the way it sends shivers up my spine and I moving my hips on my own, praying that you go faster, but not until you want to. Making me beg and moan as you slowly fuck me, making voices that nobody else would ever hear. Begging and pleading for you, no one but you. You pressing deep inside of me. I grind against you. Can you feel it, Wayne?” I said in a breathless seductive low voice.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he moaned, “Cas, Cas, Cas” He started chanting my name. It was music to my ears.

“Are you going to come because of me, Wayne? Hitting that bundle of nerves and grinding against me more. Me moaning, yes! There! Wayne! Ah!”

There was more moans, curses and names, I smiled to myself as I heard his voice, “Cas!”

There was silence again. I squirmed and re-positioned myself. My pants were becoming unbearably tight by the minute.

“Touché.” He said breathlessly, “You’re good.”

“I could say the same.” I smiled as if he could see me.

“Sorry, I’m out of gold stars.” His voice was smiling.

Maybe he could really see me.


	2. Professor's Pet

My first day at NYU, I tried my hardest to be lost in the crowd, to not be a social butterfly. I would be the boy in class who just tends to fade with the background. I just want to be a quiet and normal boy who’d you wouldn’t bat an eyelid for. 

To get through my first year of Pre Med, that was all I wanted. Getting more than that would be bad. But getting up early and going to class only to find that the lecturer, Professor Chuck, cannot attend today and the substitute for him was already 30 minutes late was worse.

“Good morning!” A small man came shouting while semi-sucking on a lollipop, maybe the same age I was, entered the room. He behaved in a mischievous manner with his hair slicked messily back. He started looking around like he was waiting for a response. All he got were weird looks and obvious whispers. 

“Ah-hm.” He paused and pressed his lips in a firm line which only looked ridiculous with the lollipop handle popping from the side, “My name is Gabe.” He started for the whiteboard then wrote, ‘Gabriel Speight’ there. He turned towards us expectantly, again he was given weird looks and hushed whispers in return. He shook his head, chuckled, and turned his back at us again, writing ‘M.D.’ next to his name.

A melody of gasps and disbelief descended into the room, it was like that for a whole minute. Then this Dr. Gabriel Speight was just leaning on his desk the whole time, wearing a smug smile on his face. His whole demeanor at that moment screamed ‘Music to my ears.’ He irked me. I stared at him unconsciously, hoping to burn a whole through him, hoping to see if he's so good that he could treat that.

I only stopped when I saw him look at me, at first with a stunned face, then a huge grin. Damn it. Wrong move, Castiel.

“Alright, alright. Settle down.” He made a clipboard appear out of nowhere. “Before anything else, I’d just like to go through the attendance sheet. Normally, it’d be easier to just pass it around, but I want to get to know you all better.” 

Everyone were all smiles for the guy in front. Yes, like that would make you know us better. 

“Let’s start, shall we?” Smiling, he took out a pen from his pocket and looked at the sheets. “Becky?”  
“Here!” A tense blonde girl raised her hand.   
“Hello there, Becky of Pike Creek, Delaware.” He smiled at her, checking something off his list, “Talbot?” There was no reply.   
“Talbot?” He looked around the room, so did everyone else.   
“No? Alright-”  
“Yeah, right here. Hello.” A brunette popped up from underneath the tables out of breathe.   
“Alright then.” He checked off something again, “Nice to meet you.” He looked at her, “Miss Talbot, her high school’s valedictorian.” And then smiled.   
"You're the teacher?" the brunette spoke out, "Is this a joke? How old are you 16?"  
"Actually, I'm just your substitute for Chuck." he laughed, "And I'm already in my 40s." there was a round of gasps again, "Though, I'm flattered-"  
"But you're so young." she exclaimed.   
“Aren't I?" he scrunched up his face, "Alright, continuing, Gor-” before he could finish the name, a man popped up beside Talbot looking alert and messy.   
“Yeah. Over here. Hi.” The professor gave him a knowing smile before he cleared his throat. “Good for you, champ…” he paused, “...ion of the hockey team in Vancouver.” Checking off something in his list. I swallowed hard when I started seeing a pattern. I think I’m not ready for mine. With every flip he made at his clipboard, I was tense. What could he have on me? I waited for my turn painfully and long. Until it finally came. And just then, at that moment, I knew that things couldn’t get any better. 

“Novak. Castiel Novak. Is he here?” he lifted a page up.   
“Yeah, here.” He didn’t even look up at me, he just kept flipping through pages. The longer, he didn’t say a follow-up after my name, the more the people around listened in on him. Waiting. And when he did look up, he looked flabbergasted which only meant trouble.   
“Impressive.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. Everyone seemed to not be satisfied by this, gave him quizzical looks. Finally, a guy raised his hand. When Professor Powell acknowledges him, he says, “Impressive how?”

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, “Why not ask, Mister Castiel here, yourself? If I answer your question, we might not be able to start our lectures for a week.” He shrugged his shoulders, “It’s really long.” He looked at it again, “You'll just get bored after a few pages.” Before anyone could squeeze more out of him, he started his lecture.

By the end of it, I came to a conclusion: Being the arrogant, cocky and self-assured person he is, he’s still a good professor. One to be respected and followed.

If only he hadn’t said those words when he was by the door saying goodbyes to other students. If only he didn’t whisper something as I passed by, maybe my freshman year would be a breeze.

I only hope I misheard him when he leaned in and said, “See you next time, Cassie.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. Great.


End file.
